


A Million Dreams

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Cute, Donnatella Moss - Freeform, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fluffy, OFC - Freeform, Post Series, Sappy, The West Wing - Freeform, WAY TOO SWEET, donna moss - Freeform, family fic, josh lyman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: A little glimpse of the domestic life of Josh and Donna, set a few years after the end of the series.





	A Million Dreams

I unsuccessfully stifle a yawn as I shift my backpack on my shoulder, slowly making my way into the building. It’s been a long week. Fortunately, nothing would constitute a national emergency, but just a never-ending series of events that’s kept me at work from before dawn until after midnight almost every day this week. Even today, Saturday, I went in at just after five this morning to try to catch up on some of the paperwork I haven’t had a chance to the rest of the week. I finally threw in the towel after noon came and went and I’d hardly made a dent. I’ve been behind since I started this job—what does a little more matter at this point?

I grin when I reach the top of the stairs, a high-pitched shriek of laughter greeting me. I glance over at Troy, one of the members of my security detail, and he struggles not to smile, too, trying to maintain his all-business façade. He could take down a moderately-sized street gang on his own, but he’s a giant softie at heart. 

“Sounds like someone is having a good time, sir,” he says, adjusting the lapels of his jacket.

“And without me. Some nerve, huh?”

He clears his throat and straightens his tie, the corner of his mouth quirking up despite his best efforts. “Have a good afternoon, sir.”

“I will,” I answer, putting my key in the lock and turning the knob. My heart stutters in joy at the sight that greets me—no matter how many times I push open the door to the same scene, I get the same feeling of overwhelming happiness.

Donna’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinning at the tiny version of her sitting in front of her. “Daddy’s home!”

My itty-bitty daughter beams at me, deep dimples forming in her cheeks. She stretches her arm out toward me, her hand opening and closing in her version of a wave. “Babababa!” she screeches.

“Baby girl!” I exclaim, tossing my bag to the floor as I drop down to a squat. Before Donna can try to help her stand, she flops down to her hands and knees, crawling over to me at lightning speed. I scoop her up in my arms, standing and spinning her in a circle. She shrieks in delight, nearly piercing my eardrum in the process. “I’ve missed you!”

“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Donna tells me, still sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys. 

“Did you miss Daddy, Becca?” I ask, kissing her cheek. She grins and blows spit bubbles at me. “Daddy’s missed you so much.” I pull her into me, hugging her as tightly as I dare. “God, how do you stand being around someone this cute?”

“It’s not easy,” Donna assures me, finally standing up to come greet me. “She’s rather charming when she’s not channeling the devil.” I lean in and kiss my wife, lingering on her lips. “I might have missed you a little, too. Are you home for lunch, or…”

“The rest of the day,” I answer, bouncing the baby a couple of times. “Tomorrow, too, hopefully. Sorry I’ve been such a deadbeat dad and husband this week.”

“Not your fault. Sometimes the job has to come first.”

“Yeah, but I’ve hardly seen our girl here since last weekend.”

“I don’t think she’s holding it against you,” she says, rubbing Becca’s back. The baby drops her head to my shoulder. “Silly goose. You already took your nap. Don’t you want to play with Daddy?”

“Babababa!”

Donna sighs wearily. “One of these days, Becca-boo, you’re going to have to start using actual words.”

I don’t comment on that because I’m probably the worst offender when it comes to encouraging our daughter to do anything on her own. It’s not even conscious on my part. She reaches for something and I hand it to her, never bothering to explain what it is or even trying to get her to say something similar. She doesn’t feel the need to try to walk much because I’m always happy to carry her. Any good that’s done when she’s around Donna or in daycare is probably instantly undone the moment I see her. She’s my kid, though, and while I’m sure I’ll regret spoiling her someday, right now I can’t help it. She’s barely over a year old and she still needs me. We’ve even taken her to get checked out, to make sure she’s where she’s supposed to be, and she is. She understands a lot—she’s just not very motivated. Why would she be? She has her Daddy wrapped around her tiny fingers.

“You want to show Daddy what you were playing with?” I ask, jostling her a little. 

“Dee,” she answers, pointing toward her pile of toys. I take one step before Donna clears her throat. At that, I carefully set the baby on the floor, holding onto her hands.

“Show Daddy, sweetie.”

She tilts her head back, almost bending in half to look up at me. I’m probably wrong, but her expression is very dubious, as if she’s not quite sure as to why I expect her to do this on her own. “Dee,” she repeats.

“C’mon, Beck, you’re making me look bad in front of Mommy. Show Daddy how you walk.”

I don’t know if she understands what I’m asking or if she finally realizes this is as much help as she’s getting out of me, but she takes stilted, unsteady steps toward her play area, gripping my fingers tightly. She collapses more than once, trying to play the “weak baby” card, but I stand firm. She’s kicked me on more than one occasion, so I know just how strong her legs are.

I finally let go of her when we reach her toys and she drops to her knees, scrambling over to her big squishy blocks, one of which she immediately shoves into her mouth. I sit on the floor, watching her in abject adoration. “Has she grown in the last few days? She looks bigger.”

“Josh,” Donna answers, sitting down beside me. “You’ve been stuck at work for the past five days, not out of the country for five weeks. She hasn’t changed that much.”

“I think she has,” I answer, reaching out to tweak her little foot. “Daddy’s sorry he hasn’t been here, Becca. I hate when I have to be away from you.”

“She hates it, too, because I’m the bad guy and I make her work for everything.”

“No, Mommy’s a good person, isn’t she, baby? She just wants you to be smart and strong.” I look over at Donna, giving her a half smile. “I want that, too, you know, but I still like her needing so much from me. I want her to grow up just like you, though.”

She smiles, reaching out to rub my leg affectionately. “She’s far from being independent, and she’s going to need you for a long time. Just because she’ll be walking and talking on her own doesn’t mean you won’t still be her minion. If you think she won’t milk that whole ‘Daddy’s girl’ thing until the end of time, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought you were.

That part is probably true enough. As long as she bats those big blue-green eyes at me, and flashes that smile that came directly from her mother, I’ll be putty in her hands. I really should try to be more helpful with teaching her how to speak, if nothing else because I can’t wait to hear her call me “Daddy.”

“Everything okay at work?”

“Yeah. I just wasn’t getting anywhere so I figured I was better off at home. Plus, like I said, I missed you guys. All that paperwork will be there on Monday.”

“Hey, we’re happy to have you. I think Miss Rebecca was getting pretty tired of only seeing Mommy at home.”

I wrap my arm around Donna’s shoulders, pulling her closer. Despite the fact that we work in the same building, our paths don’t often cross accidentally. We do our best to see each other for at least a few minutes during the day, but the last week really has been brutal. I’ve seen Donna for a few minutes here and there at home, but she’s usually asleep or just about both when I’m getting up for work or getting home, and Becca has all but been out of the question. Even when she’s cried during the night, Donna wouldn’t let me get up and check on her, knowing how exhausted I’ve been and how little sleep I’m getting—as if she’s not just as sleep-deprived. Even though Becca’s daycare isn’t too far from the White House, and it’s not at all uncommon for one of us to bring her back to the building when the daycare closes for the day and we’re nowhere near done with work, I haven’t had the chance to really spend time with her then, either, not this week.

“Everything been all right with you?” I ask. “Anything interesting?”

“No, it’s been quiet in the East Wing. Helen and I haven’t even had much busywork to do, so we’ve mostly spent time playing with the baby.”

“What a life,” I tease, giving her another squeeze. Truthfully, Donna keeps the First Lady’s office running so smoothly and efficiently that they rarely have any catching up to do. Once she got into the swing of the job, she pretty much had the entire White House running like a well-oiled machine. As I predicted, it wasn’t long before the President started offering her jobs on his staff. After Rebecca was born and I was toying with the idea of becoming a stay-at-home dad, we all talked about the possibility of Donna becoming Chief of Staff to President Santos. Eventually, Donna decided that, while the baby still needed so much from her, she’d stay in the comparatively lower stress environment of the East Wing. The possibility of me staying at home fulltime with our daughter isn’t completely off the table—missing all these moments of her life kills me—but for now, we’re maintaining the status quo. If nothing else, the schedule is one that, while often unpredictable, we can deal with. There’s a large part of me, though, that absolutely loves the idea of my wife as our President’s secondhand-man. She’d be undoubtedly brilliant at it. 

“Don’t be mean,” she answers, nudging me in the ribs. I shy away from her elbow, sighing as I watch our daughter. We really managed to make a perfect little person. I’m sure I’ll be singing a different song in another ten years or so, but I’m pretty sure that even when she’s a moody teenager, I’ll think she’s the best moody teenager around. Seriously, though, if she turns out anything like her mother, the world will be a better place.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I? You two didn’t have any big afternoon plans, did you?”

“Do you really think that even if we did, we wouldn’t include you? ‘Hi, honey, welcome home! Good to see you. Okay, Beck and I are going to the park—bye!’”

“Well, sure, if you put it that way.”

“Besides, I don’t think her majesty would stand for it. Her daddy comes home for the first time in forever and I take her away? I don’t need that kind of tantrum today.”

“She is kind of attached to me, isn’t she?” I ask smugly, reaching out to tickle the baby’s belly. She squeaks in delight, blowing bubbles at me again.

“If by attached you mean when they cut the umbilical cord it immediately reattached to you, then I’d say so.”

I chuckle, giving Becca another tickle. It’s not as severe as all that—umbilical cord or not, she’s actually very attached to her mother. They have a very strong bond and even though Becca doesn’t speak the language yet, they’ve always understood each other. She doesn’t reach for me any more than she reaches for Donna. I will say, though, that once she was actually born, my own attachment level went through the roof. As soon as I met her, I knew I was absolutely gone. All those expectant parent books were right about how men don’t really become fathers until the kid is born, at least when it came to me. Not that I didn’t dote on Donna and our unborn child as much as possible, but everything felt wildly different after Becca came into the world.

“Anyway, we don’t have any plans for the day. Now that you’re home, I can actually plan some sort of real dinner for us, unless you want takeout or something.”

“If you’re up for it, I’d love to not eat takeout tonight. Real food sounds amazing.”

“That’s fine. We went grocery shopping after work yesterday—I’m sure I can throw something together. Not that one of us here cares all that much about real food.” She reaches out and taps Becca’s foot, making her smile. The baby has not been terribly impressed with solid food. She’ll eat the stuff we put in front of her, making faces, smacking her gums and using what teeth she has to chew it up and force it down, but just as often, she lets it dribble out of her mouth. She much prefers getting it from the source, and Donna hasn’t been in a hurry to stop her. Breastfeeding seems to be comforting to both of them, and even I find it endlessly fascinating. We both figured I’d be grossed out by it, but there’s something I find oddly primal about watching our daughter receive sustenance from her mother. Donna’s only complaint about it—teeth. Apparently, and I’m not surprised by it, baby teeth on a nipple feel like tiny razors. 

“Oh, but I do have a surprise for you.”

I hold out my hands to Becca, who zooms at me once more, beaming at me when I pull her onto my lap, even if I do make her stand. “You do? How’d you know I’d even be home?”

Donna rolls her eyes at me. “Well, I wasn’t planning to surprise you _now_. I knew you’d be at home some point, though. I figured I’d do it then.”

I pick up the baby and blow raspberries on her squishy belly, wincing when she grabs my hair and yanks. “Help, please,” I mumble, which just seems to make her grip tighter.

With a world-weary sigh, Donna lifts herself to her knees and grabs our daughter’s fist, managing to work it loose. “Come here, sweetheart. Daddy has enough trouble with his receding hairline as it is—he doesn’t need your help.”

“Thanks, honey, I love you, too,” I answer sarcastically, rubbing my scalp as Donna pulls the baby into her arms.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s always complaining about your hair’s retreat into submission, not me.” She beams at our daughter, who flashes Donna an identical grin in response. “You like that you have the same hairdo as your daddy, don’t you?”

The only thing more amazing than my daughter is watching Donna interact with her. It nearly makes my heart stop every time. “So,” I start, clearing my throat when my voice catches. “Where’s this surprise you’re talking about?”

She looks over at me, her eyes twinkling, her smile lascivious. “It’s in our bedroom.”

If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would be bulging out of my head right now and my tongue would be on the floor. “Why, Mrs. Lyman. Aren’t you naughty?”

She snickers a little at the “Mrs. Lyman” thing, but manages to waggle her eyebrows suggestively. “Only one way to find out.”

Good God, I’m easy. She merely implies that I’m getting sex and I’m ready to rip off my clothes. Admittedly, sex has been a bit on the scarce side this past year—between Donna recovering from the birth, our general state of exhaustion with being new parents, and the fact that Donna has had a lot of moments where she’s felt unsexy—which is insane because she is, somehow, always sexy—it just hasn’t happened as much as it used to. I suppose that’s to be expected and, apparently, it’s not even terribly uncommon, but I know we’ve been a little disappointed that we can’t always make it happen.

That’s not to say we haven’t had any sex since Becca was born, because that’s absolutely not true. As she sleeps for longer stretches, we’ve found more time for it, especially in the last few months. I’m certainly not complaining, either—we both knew that having a kid would change our lives completely, and it’s been so worth it. Still, that means I appreciate it all the more when we finally have time to ourselves.

I’m assuming, since it’s in our bedroom, that it’s either something fun and skimpy that she’s willing to wear for me, or it’s some sort of toy that our daughter should never get her slimy hands on. “Can I…” I trail off, gesturing down the hall. “Can I have a preview?”

She leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Knock yourself out, babe.”

I try not to appear too eager as I stand up and hurry toward our room. Donna’s snickering lets me know I haven’t done a very good job. I’ve never been very good at stealth.

Still, when I get to our room, I open the door slowly and look around. Fortunately, I’m not being “surprised” with a kitten or, even worse, a puppy. On our bed, though—on my side—is a nicely wrapped package, big enough that it sends all sorts of lurid thoughts running through my head. I hurry over and grab for it, freezing just as my fingertips graze it. “Can I actually open it now,” I call out, “or does the preview just include knowing that it’s here?”

She lets out a loud laugh, Becca following suit. “It’s for you, Josh—you can open it whenever you want. I think your expectations are getting a little high, though.”

“Killjoy,” I answer affectionately, calming myself as I sit on the bed next to the present. I study it for a moment, realizing it’s like one of those gift boxes you see on TV—two separate pieces, each wrapped and ribboned so it looks like one unit. I’d wonder where she got it, but knowing Donna, she did it herself. I pull off the lid and peak in, feeling my anticipation ramp up when I realize whatever it is is completely wrapped in tissue paper.

I know I’m far too childlike when it comes to presents, but I can’t manage to contain myself. I pull out several sheets of the tissue paper, marveling when nothing is revealed. Whatever it is must be really skimpy. I pull out a few more sheets, really feeling puzzled when I still find nothing.

“The hell…” I mumble to myself. I’m almost at the bottom of the box and still nothing. Donna loves to screw with me, but I can’t imagine her wasting time on an empty gift box. I pull the box onto my lap, giving it a little shake. I hear something rattling and clinking against the sides. I pull out a few more pieces of paper, finally finding what looks like a pen—no, it looks like one of those digital thermometers. Is this my wife’s twisted way of letting me know she’s sick?

I pick up the thermometer and turn it over to check the readout, my hand growing slack a second later. It’s a pregnancy test.

It’s a positive pregnancy test.

Oh, my God…

“Donna!” I try to yell to her, but the wind seems to have gone out of my sails and it comes out more like a gasp. I look toward the door to call her again, not at all shocked to see her already standing there, Becca against her hip. “Donna,” I whisper.

She smiles at me uncertainly. “Surprise,” she says softly, though it comes out more like a question.

“What...how…I mean, I know how, but…” I can’t form sentences. I can’t even form thoughts. “Are you…”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. There are two more tests in the bathroom and they’re all positive. I figured putting all three of them in the box was overkill.”

“But...wha…”

“Not the surprise you were imaging, I know,” she answers ruefully, “but I thought this might be a fun way to tell you that we’re having another baby.”

The word “baby” snaps me out of my stupor. I stand, the box and tissue paper scattering all over the floor, though the test remains firmly in my hand. “You’re pregnant?” I ask in a whisper, moving slowly toward her.

“I’m pregnant,” she answers, a smile tugging at her lips even as I watch her eyes fill with tears. An instant later I’m crushing her to me, taking care not to squish Becca in the process.

“We’re having another baby?” I ask into her neck, not surprised to feel my own eyes growing wet. 

“So it would seem,” she answers, her free arm gripping at my shoulders.

I can’t help but laugh for a moment before I pull away in concern. “Oh, my God, come sit down. You should be resting.”

“Josh,” she groans as I steer her toward the bed. “I’m not made of glass.”

I ignore her, helping to ease her onto the bed before I grab Becca, giving her a big kiss on the cheek before I plant her in her playpen in the corner.

“I can hold my own baby, too.”

I drop to my knees in front of her, rubbing her legs as I stare up at her in a way I can only imagine is reverent. She shakes her head, running a hand through my hair. “How long have you known? And how did I miss it?”

She shrugs, her eyes still watery. “It feels different this time. I haven’t gotten sick at all. I’ve just felt tired—exhausted, really—but I’ve felt like that since before Becca was born. There were no signs for us to look for. Plus, you’ve been tied up at work a lot lately, so aside from when we run into each other there, you mostly only see me early in the morning or late at night, and even then it’s usually just for a few minutes.”

“Oh, damn. I’m sorry—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she reassures me. “It’s been busy. You’ve had a lot to do. It’s work—it’s okay. But that’s probably why you didn’t notice anything. Truthfully, I didn’t notice until a couple of days ago. I bought the tests last night, took them this morning, and…”

I lean up and take her face in my hands, pulling her in for a kiss. “So, you’re feeling okay? Honestly?”

“Josh, seriously. I’ve done this before.”

“I have, too, but that doesn’t mean I can’t worry. It’s my job to worry about you and our child—well, our children.”

Her eyes light up at “children,” a tear finally slipping down her cheek. “So I take you’re excited about this?” 

I laugh, kissing her again. “Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, the box didn’t have what you were expecting—”

“It’s better,” I insist, meaning it with every fiber of my being. Back when Becca was only a few months old, we decided we wanted more kids and that we’d work on it. We certainly didn’t start trying right away, but we also didn’t do much to prevent it. We didn’t worry when it didn’t happen right away—in fact, we were a little relieved that we had time to focus on our one—and we decided not to track ovulation and temperatures and such until it felt like it’d been “too long” without something happening. Between sex being erratic and not actively “trying,” it really doesn’t feel like it’s been all that long since we made the decision to expand our family.

“You don’t mind that I didn’t wait for you to take the test?”

“Of course not. I’m just happy with the results.” I kiss her again, wrapping my arms around her carefully. She makes a disgusted noise, tightening her grip on me. I was like this the first time around, holding her like she was going to break, making her put her feet up, trying to take as much off her plate as possible. She found it charming to a point. She was fine with me picking up things for her, doing as much heavy lifting as possible, but she managed to get me off her back about most of the rest of the stuff—she figured out early on when to sit down and rest, what she should and shouldn’t be eating, that sort of thing. It didn’t stop me from trying my damndest to take care of her every single moment possible, but I learned pretty quickly when to back off. She proved over and over again that she wasn’t weak, that pregnancy didn’t make her weak, it merely changed her specific set of needs for a while. 

Besides, watching her give birth and seeing first hand just what her body could endure without shattering let me know in no uncertain terms just how strong she is.  
None of that stops me from constantly trying to protect my wife and daughter, and it won’t be any different with the one that’s growing inside of her.

“You want this, too, right?” I ask, pulling back to look into her eyes.

“More than anything,” she answers without hesitation. “Can I stand up now?”

I let out a put-upon sigh, groaning as I pull myself off my knees. She chuckles as she stands with no trouble, her hand sliding over her stomach. The gesture sends happy shivers down my spine.

“How far along do you think?”

“About two months; pretty standard. A girl notices when she misses two periods.”

Truthfully, I’m a little surprised that I managed to miss that, too—it’s almost impossible for someone to spend that amount of time with a woman over the course of more than a decade and not be aware of what her body is doing—but I suppose there have been a million other things going on lately. Not to mention how time seems to have sped up since Becca was born, with whole weeks flying by in the course of what feels like a matter of hours; it’s no wonder two months passed without either of us noticing.

“Becca’s going to be a big sister—can you believe it?” she asks, wrapping her arms around my middle, her head resting on my shoulder as she gazes over at our daughter, seemingly content to play on her own for now.

For whatever reason, that’s what makes everything hit home. It’s not going to be just the three of us anymore. We’re going to be one of those nuclear families. “God, we’re not all going to fit here much longer.”

“I’ve thought about that,” she answers softly.

“We need to look for a house. Soon. I don’t want our kids growing up cramped in an apartment. They need space to run around. They need a backyard. They need trees.” Truthfully, it’s been kind of tight here for a while now. When it was just me and Donna, the apartment felt huge, at times like it was too much space for just us. Once we had a baby, the place felt like it shrank. Kids come with more paraphernalia than I ever could have imagined, and all of Becca’s stuff took up every millimeter of spare space we had and then some. We probably should have put more effort into finding a bigger place a while ago, but living like this has felt almost cozy and in retrospect, there are an awful lot of memories in this place. It’s the first place we called “home.” It’s where we started our relationship and our marriage. It’s where our daughter was conceived. It almost feels like it’s part of our family. I suppose, though, if our physical family is growing, this part of it should, too.

“Josh, Becca can’t even walk yet, and even if she could, she doesn’t exactly need a yard right now. The new baby will probably sleep in here with us at first, just like Becca, and even after that, they’ll probably be okay to share a room for a while. They don’t exactly need privacy.”

“Yeah, but it’s already getting claustrophobic with the three of us, and can you imagine how much more my mother will visit with two grandkids? She’ll need somewhere to stay, too.”

“Because we should plan our future around your mother’s visits.”

“Well, no, of course not, but it’s something we should consider in all of this.”

She lifts her head, looking at me imploringly. “Can we just…enjoy this moment? For a few days, at least? I know we’re more aware of the practical aspects of it this time around, but we just found out I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby. I’m really excited about it.”

I kiss her forehead, guiding her head back to my shoulder. “I’m excited, too. More than I can say. You’re right—this is a moment we should savor.” I glance over at the corner to our daughter, still happy to entertain herself, though it looks like she’s moved onto playing with her feet. “Do you think Becca’s going to be a good big sister?”

“No,” Donna answers immediately. “She’s going to be a horrible influence…after she gets over the fact that Mommy and Daddy’s attention is divided.”

I chuckle, stroking my wife’s hair. “You’re probably right.” Still, I can’t wait to see how she takes to it, how she’ll interact with a new sibling. I’m sure it’ll be tough since she’s used to having us all to herself, probably even more so since she’ll be going through the terrible twos by the time the baby gets here. Donna and I will just have to try extra hard to make sure we don’t expect her to be magically grown up and to set a good example.

“Hey—when do you want to go to the doctor? We need to get you both checked out.” I’m answered with silence. “Donna?” A long puff of air hits my neck and I laugh silently—she’s asleep. This certainly hasn’t changed from the first time. She fell asleep constantly during her first trimester, though usually if she was in a comfortable position. The entertaining part was what her body deemed “comfortable.” I often found that if I hugged her a little too long, that was good enough and she’d immediately drift off. Seems like this time will be no different.

Carefully, I maneuver her toward the edge of our bed, easing her down until I can help her stretch out. Most of the time when this happened before, we weren’t so lucky as to be somewhere I could lay her down, and it often resulted in me trying to lean us against a wall or door, always reluctant to wake her. The worst was when I did it for an hour, but the end result was a refreshed, non-cranky pregnant wife who thought I was the sweetest man alive for doing that for her, so I considered it a win.

She settles onto the bed with no trouble, though, and I grab one of the throw blankets and place it over her carefully. I glance over at our daughter, wondering how long we can leave her to her own devices before she becomes indignant and lets us—not to mention all of our neighbors—know about it. Deciding to risk her wrath, I crawl into bed next to Donna. I reach beneath the blanket and move her shirt, my hand finding the soft skin of her stomach. Obviously, she doesn’t at all look pregnant yet, but knowing there’s a tiny life inside of her right now still blows my mind. 

She mumbles in her sleep and turns toward me, her arms wrapping around me. I feel my eyes growing heavy and I try to fight it for a few minutes. I really should get up and spend some quality time with my daughter, but she really doesn’t seem to care about being social at the moment. I give up the battle, letting sleep creep its way in. As I’m drifting off, though, it occurs to me that the people who matter most in the world are all here in this room—all three of them. 

That’s pretty incredible.

**Author's Note:**

> It suddenly occurred to me to post this on Mother’s Day. I realize this isn’t universally Mother’s Day, and I’ve actually been spending most of the day hanging out with my own mother and haven’t been able to post this before now, but that’s okay. I wrote this in the magic notebook back in January, I think, and finally typed it up—I’ve just been working on editing it (also, slightly related note, I actually filled that notebook and am onto another one). Seems appropriate for a day celebrating mothers, though. I’m going to attempt to jot down a related ficlet for this and maybe post it tomorrow as a follow up. Also, this title is definitely a reference to The Greatest Showman, which I’ve seen about a dozen times, and have listened to the soundtrack even more.


End file.
